Anything But Normal
by Smitty
Summary: Jack Knight and Sand Hawkins find they have a few things in common. SLASH
1. The Bar

_Disclaimer: I do not own Sand Hawkins, Jack Knight, Dinah Lance, or anyone else who makes an appearance or is mentioned in this work of fanfiction. They belong to DC/Time Warner. I am making no money off this story; I just like playing with the characters. But apparently not as much as they like playing with each other.  
  
Author's Note: I've played fast and loose with Sand's canon. Because, well, blah. This takes place between JSA #10 and #11 and after Starman #73, in which Sadie leaves Jack. _

Jack Knight: Jack reluctantly took the role of Starman when his brother was killed and his father, the original Starman, was attacked. He has a son by his arch-enemy, the Mist, and will one day have a daughter by Sadie, the lover who left him because she feared for his superhero lifestyle. 

Sanderson Hawkins: Sand was originally known as Sandy the Golden Boy, sidekick to the Golden Age mystery man Sandman, Wesley Dodds. He was nephew to Wesley's lover Dian Belmont and raised by Dian and Wesley. He spent 40-50 years in suspended animation when Wesley's experimental silicoid gun turned him into a sand creature. He was chairman of the JSA when it first reformed and for the purposes of this story. 

_**Anything But Normal** _  
_**By Smitty** _   
  


* * *

  
  
_**From the Shade's Journal...** _

_Jack once told me of the first time he laid eyes on Sanderson Hawkins. It was at the funeral of Wesley Dodds, a man who had once been known as the Sandman, back in those glorious days when the Mystery Men kept the world safe from fellows like myself. Sand was giving the eulogy and when Jack looked at him, he saw his elder friend in the blond boy. Respectable, strong, innately moral--truly the boy had grown into the man's place._

Jack had loved Wesley Dodds as a hero. But he would come to love Sanderson Hawkins as a man.   
  


* * *

  
  
In retrospect, it was all Black Canary's fault. When she heard news of Sand's impending birthday through the superhero grapevine, she decided that it would have to be celebrated--and not by halves.

Breakfast in bed--much to the embarrassment of the birthday boy, who wasn't used to his sleeping quarters being invaded in the early hours of the morning and therefore was not appropriately dressed for receiving company--was followed by a day of walking into rooms gaudily decorated with streamers and balloons. These events were followed up by a near-torching of the kitchen as Dinah and Courtney made a stab at cooking his favorite meal. It might have helped, Sand considered, if they had asked what that favorite meal was first. Given the opportunity, a well-crafted answer could have avoided much of the destruction. After all, delivery pizza never set off the smoke detectors.  
  


* * *

  
  
"Fearless leader?" 

Sand twitched and squeezed his pen more tightly as Dinah called from the doorway of his office. He glanced at the old clock that had been sitting on that same desk for probably sixty years. It told him that in just two more hours, his birthday would be blessedly over and he hoped the damage that could be racked up in that time could be limited. He'd managed to skirt through the entire day with gracious thanks and casual indifference, but one more brick to the head in regard to his birthday was going to make him crazy. It wasn't that he didn't like his birthday... but it was a very sobering reminder of his isolation in this world. 

This was his teammates' way of being friendly, though, of trying to include him in their lives and he couldn't turn that away. He didn't actually know many of them--the new ones at least--and now he was the one from whom they were all taking orders.

"Hi, Black Canary," he said, using her codename in a weak attempt to forget that she now knew he owned boxer shorts decorated with Mickey Mouse.

"Hey, Mouseketeer!" Dinah stepped into the room, closing the door behind her, and approached Sand's desk.

"What's up?" he asked her, his false cheer deflating.

"We all think you've been overworking yourself a little," she started, "and we'd like to take you out for a night. There's this little bar; I know the owner, and I think you could use a break."

"Dinah," Sand began, without really knowing where he was going. "I appreciate the thought--"

"It's your birthday," Dinah pointed out firmly. "There's nothing wrong with a night of fun."

"I just don't think I'd have that much fun," Sand told her apologetically.

"I think you would," Dinah insisted. "I know that maybe the rest of the day has been a little crazy but we're only doing this because we care." She picked up a framed photo on his desk and glanced down at it. It was a photo of himself and Wesley, one Dian had taken just before they'd been trapped in Ragnorak. Sand got the message loud and clear. He was alone for the first time in years on his birthday and Dinah was trying her best to make up for it. 

"I miss him, too," she said softly. "And I miss my mom and Uncle Al and Uncle Charles and all the others." Sand couldn't see Dinah's face as she looked down at the photo, but when she lifted her head, she was smiling. "C'mon! Everyone wants you to go out with us. They're waiting downstairs in the kitchen. I even called up Jack and Pieter Cross and they're both coming into town for this."

"You called--aw, Dinah." Sand ran a hand through his hair and glanced at his desk. "I've got a ton of paperwork I wanted to get rid of tonight. I'm really behind." I'm really over my head, he wanted to say, but didn't. It wasn't that running the JSA was overwhelming him, but it was such an effort to keep up with the challenge that it wore him out for anything else--and maybe he liked it that way. 

"Sand, it's your birthday!" Dinah exclaimed. "If you're going to take any night off, this is it."

Sand smiled ruefully. "It's not quite the same when you're turning seventy," he told her, his voice tinged with irony.

"Seventy?" Dinah asked, a grin sliding over her pretty features. "Good grief, man. Maybe we should take you to a senior center instead of a watering hole."

Sand tried to hide a laugh and wound up snorting.

"So seriously, how many birthdays have you actually celebrated?" Dinah asked, handing him the picture. "How old would you be if we cut out all that..._other stuff_?" She spoke the last words with disdain, waving her hand as if shooing away those 45 years in the legendary "velvet cage."

Sand set the picture down on his desk, pausing for a minute to look at Wesley's toothy smile one more time and mentally add up the years to be sure his previous calculations were right. "Twenty-five," he admitted with a faint grimace. Too young to be in the position he currently occupied, too old to be someone's sidekick. Too young to feel so old.

"Oh yeah?" Dinah asked nonchalantly. "Me too."

That easy joke was the last push Sand needed. He laughed and stepped out from around the desk. 

"I'll go change," he offered.

"See?" Dinah said, preceding him through the door. "I told you. We'll have fun."   
  


* * *

  
  
"Why can't I go?" Courtney Whitmore demanded as Sand walked into the kitchen. "I'm a member of this team, too!"

"Because you're underage, squirt," Ted Grant told her cheerfully. 

"So's Kendra, and no one's making her stay at home!"

Sand joined Dinah, Ted, and Al Rothstein in turning to look at Kendra Saunders, who was sitting at the kitchen table in jeans and a tank top, reading a book. She looked up in surprise.

"Kendra's got a fake ID," she retorted, shooting a pointed glare at Courtney. "And Kendra doesn't look like she escaped from the high school."

There was a beat of silence in which Sand realized he was going to have to say something leader-like or burn in hell for sure. With great trepidation at Kendra's reaction, he opened his mouth but was cut off.

"Are you wearing that?" Dinah asked, in that matter-of-fact female tone that implied that no, he most certainly was _not_ going to wear that.

Sand looked down at his khaki slacks, long-sleeved blue shirt and red tie and wondered at how Kendra had been so easily let off the hook. "I was planning to," he answered, fully prepared to go back to his room and try again.

Dinah shook her head and grabbed his tie. She loosened the knot, yanked it over his head, and gave his hair a firm mussing. "Go put on a pair of jeans and that'll be good enough," she proclaimed. "Jack and Pieter are meeting us downtown. Are we missing anyone?" She gave a cursory look around. "Hold down the fort, Courtney. You're in charge."   
  


* * *

  
  
Those words should have warned Sand about the kind of evening he was in for. But he didn't listen. 

"The kid needs another beer!"

Sand rocked under Ted Grant's hearty slap to his back. Dinah had dragged them all to a homey little bar just over the bridge in Jersey where the two main attractions seemed to be country line dancing and the bartender who knew Dinah by name. 

"I got this one," Jack Knight offered, pulling his wallet from his back jeans pocket and tossing a bill toward the bartender.

"Uh, I've probably had enough for now," Sand suggested.

"You've had one, and Jack drank half of it when he came in," Dinah reminded him.

Sand sighed and faced his next drink.

"What _is_ this?" he asked doubtfully. The bartender had presented him with a massive mug, rather than the longnecked bottle Ted had placed in front of him earlier. The mug was filled with something dark and thick and topped with a generous dollop of foam that looked to be sentient.

"It's Guinness," Jack told him smugly. "It's a _real_ beer."

It looked rather like pond sludge. 

"You're going to make the boy sick, Jack," Dinah said disapprovingly. Sand noticed that she had her stool pulled so closely to Pieter Cross', she might as well be in his lap. Interesting, he thought with a suppressed smile, that he'd offered Pieter a place on the JSA three weeks ago but an invitation from Dinah got an immediate response.

"He'll get full before he gets drunk off that stuff," Al assured her, in reference to the Guinness.

With one last, rueful look at the mug, Sand lifted it to his lips and took a swig.

"It's like drinking bread," he choked out when he'd managed to swallow.

"That it is," Jack agreed with a broad grin, lifting his mug to bump it against Sand's. "That it is!"

Sand grinned weakly and ventured another sip. He was starting to feel warm and mellow. It was his birthday, he was with friends, and the atmosphere was definitely growing on him. Dinah's friend had saved the stools lining the bar for them. The happy bustle of people stopping by to have a drink and talk to their friends after work filled his ears. A band, set up on the small stage, was starting to play a country song he didn't know. He took a slightly larger drink of the Guinness and realized he was hunched up on his stool. He made a conscious effort to straighten up and look around. Jack was chatting with Kendra, who looked as friendly and animated as Sand had ever seen her. Al was eyeing a girl who was leaning on the bar next to him to order a drink. Dinah and Pieter were sitting knee to knee. Sand let his eyes linger for a brief moment on their intertwined hands and Pieter's chiseled jaw. 

He was much darker than Charles, Sand mused, returning to his drink. Strong Nordic features and dark hair. He was incredibly self-assured, too. Almost arrogant. Not his Doc at all, Sand thought with a pang.

He took another long sip of his drink and decided not to study the rest of his friends. Everyone he'd come with--except for Ted of course--was a reminder of someone else dead and buried. The old days were too long gone.

"Hey." Ted Grant's rough voice pushed at his thoughts. "You okay there, kid?"

"Fine," Sand answered. He lifted his mug and drained it. He grimaced as he swallowed the dregs of the draft and looked up. He felt like he should do something--order another, get up and talk to someone.... Something.

"My turn!" Dinah crowed, hopping up to wave at the bartender.

"No, mine," Pieter insisted, blocking her arm and interposing himself between Dinah and the bar. He laid a friendly hand on Sand's shoulder as he waved the bartender over and spoke in his ear for a moment. The other man nodded and grabbed a squat tumbler from the rack over his head.

The hand resting on Sand's shoulder was large and strong and gave a hearty, comforting squeeze as it drifted away. It wasn't meant as a come-on--it was a slight gesture and Pieter's obvious infatuation with Dinah was a pretty good indication of where his preferences lay--but Sand couldn't help but react. It had been a long time since anyone, particularly anyone as attractive as Pieter, had touched him in any way, let alone gently. More specifically, it had been a long time since a lover had touched him and he couldn't help but make comparisons. 

Sand was distracted from his contemplation of Pieter's friendly squeeze by Jack slinging an arm around his shoulders and tugging him off his stool.

"Hey," Jack muttered in his ear. "Ten bucks says I can get that girl's phone number before you." He nodded across the room at a pretty brunette standing just a little apart from a group of her friends.

Sand shook his head and pulled away. "No way." He lifted the drink the bartender had left for him and tossed down a mouthful. He blinked as his eyes watered from the Scotch burning its way down his throat. "Oh. Ah." He coughed irritably.

Dinah reached out and patted him on the back. "You're a doctor," she scolded Pieter. "'Beer before liquor, never been sicker' mean anything to you?"

Pieter blinked. "There's one I haven't heard," he mused, mouthing it slowly to himself. "It's a very high quality single-malt."

Sand coughed again, not from the drink.

"All he needs are a few of my sober pills," Pieter suggested, pulling a small bottle from his inner jacket pocket.

"Great, now you're drugging him," Dinah teased, punching Pieter in the arm. "Leave that poor boy alone and pay me a little more attention."

"Oh, well, if you insist...." 

Sand turned away as they giggled together, heads almost touching, and found himself facing Jack once more.

"About that girl," Jack started.

"Not interested," Sand told him shortly.

Jack started to say something else but was cut off when Kendra pushed in front of him, latching onto Sand's arm.

"C'mon," she urged, dragging him bodily from the stool. "Let's dance."

Sand stumbled to his feet, abandoning his drink, and let himself be dragged away, despite the concrete knowledge that he was about to make a fool of himself.   
  


* * *

  
  
Sand wanted nothing more than to escape from the dance floor, the band, and Kendra. He tripped over his own feet again and cursed.

"Nuts!" He glanced and Kendra and blushed. "Sorry."

"For what? Tripping?" Kendra asked flirtatiously, putting her hands on his shoulders to steady him.

"No, just--" He looked up and Kendra's face very close to his. 

"Just...what?" She tilted her head and leaned closer.

Sand's mouth went dry. He wondered if she was going to kiss him. He wondered if she expected him to kiss her.

"Kendra, I--" 

Before he had to finish his sentence, the music changed from the raucous dance tune to something twangy and slow. Kendra stepped closer, tucking her head into his shoulder and wrapping her arms around his neck. He took a deep breath, feeling relieved to have dodged that bullet. Dancing he could survive, kissing would only lead to later problems and difficult explanations. He folded his arms across Kendra's back and followed her gentle swaying. He'd still prefer a good swing band to this crap, but at least he wasn't dancing to anything called the "Boot Scoot Boogie". Yes, this he could live with.

Kendra's hand started rubbing the back of his neck as they swayed with the music. Sand swallowed uncomfortably and took a deep breath, this time catching the scent of Kendra's shampoo as he inhaled. It smelled good, sweet, and he relaxed a little as Kendra nestled closer to him. There were other couples on the floor and they seemed to be staying in their own space for this song. That was fine with him, as he'd had quite enough of the itinerant line dancing for one night. Just as he started to become comfortable with the situation, Kendra's hand moved to his shoulder, skimming over the muscle, her nails catching in his shirt. Sand's breath caught in his throat. He wasn't _that_ drunk! Not so drunk that he should be getting hard whenever _anyone_, particularly a teenage girl, touched him. At least he was only at half-mast; he was still at least partly gay, he told himself. Kendra lifted her head from his chest and tilted it back, probably he thought, to look up at him. He ducked his head so she couldn't see his face and looked across the room at the bar, where Jack and Dinah were conversing and watching the dance floor--and probably him. That, he decided, could lead to nothing but trouble. He felt Kendra's hand rubbing its way sensuously down his back and let out an audible breath as she pressed on a recalcitrant knot in his lower back that no number of hot baths had been able to relax. 

"You're a little stiff there," she murmured, rubbing her hips against him, indicating that she knew his back wasn't the only part of his body that was stiff. "Let's see if we can't...loosen you up." She continued to press and massage at Sand's back and he was letting her, amazingly enough, until he opened his eyes and looked across the room to see that Dinah was alone.

Uh-oh, he thought, squeezing his eyes closed. And then thought, uh-oh again when he realized Kendra's hands had left his back. And then Sand's eyes flew open. 

Oh _shit_.   
  


* * *

  
  
"She...grabbed me," Sand hissed to Dinah, who was leaning on the bar next to him, listening sympathetically.

"It happens," Dinah told him, nodding. "You do have a cute ass."

"Dinah!" Sand drank some more beer to hide his blush. "You looked?"

"Sand, you wear skintight green spandex. Of course I looked. And you should be grateful she didn't make a play for the package." Dinah nodded sagely.

"It's a silica-based material," Sand grumbled, ignoring the comment about his "package".

"That hardly makes a difference."

"I guess not." Sand sighed and took another draw from his beer. "Where did everyone else go?"

"Al left with some girl, Ted's playing darts over there, and Jack's dancing with Kendra."

"I owe him big time," Sand said with a sigh.

"Buy him a beer or something," Dinah suggested. "All he did was cut in when you looked desperate."

"Yeah." Sand played with the label on his bottle. "Where's Pieter?"

"He's around," Dinah confirmed with a careless wave of her hand. "Are you doing ok? Do you want to leave?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he answered, drinking a little more to do something with his hands. "Just not used to this, I guess."

Dinah put a hand on his shoulder, much like Kendra had, but it felt different. Her touch was gentle and undemanding, reminding him of Aunt Dian's calming touch when he argued with Wesley. "Jack's worried about you, you know," she said quietly.

"He is?" Sand asked in surprise, looking back up at her. "What for? I'm fine."

Dinah rubbed his shoulder gently and Sand couldn't help but feel like she was picking her words carefully--something unusual for Dinah. Was there something going on he didn't know about?

"I don't know why," she said finally. "But he's got his hackles up. He's keeping an eye on you."

Sand turned his head to look at Jack dancing casually with Kendra and laughing with her. He certainly didn't look like a man with his hackles raised for any reason. "He looks like he's having a good time," he said. "I think he wanted to have a girl to dance with."

Dinah's fingers stilled on his shoulder. "What makes you say that?" she asked neutrally.

"He wanted to make some bet earlier," Sand said, returning to his sprawl against the bar. "'Bout getting some girl's phone number."

Dinah's fingers began moving again in careful circles and she leaned over to press a kiss to Sand's temple. 

"What was that for?" he asked in surprise.

"Honey," Dinah said hesitantly, smoothing her fingers over the place she kissed, "we just want you to be happy. No matter what, ok?"

Sand went very still and he folded his hands around his bottle. "You know," he said quietly, not taking his eyes from the partially shredded label.

"I don't know anything you don't tell me," she said, squeezing his shoulder.

"Dinah--"

"Last call!" the bartender hollered, automatically setting a new beer in front of Dinah. 

Sand sent his empty bottle sliding across the bar and stood up, brushing the creases from his jeans.

"Let's go." 

End Part One 


	2. The Kitchen

_**Anything But Normal, Part 2** _  
_**By Smitty** _   
  
  
  
They straggled into the darkened brownstone, a motley crew if ever there was one. Dinah leaned sleepily on Sand's shoulder. Ted had Kendra on his back, her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms around his neck. Pieter had excused himself to return to Portsmouth, but Jack was still with them, probably the most sober of the bunch. 

"C'mon, princess," Ted said over his shoulder to Kendra. "You're going upstairs."

"I'm turning in, too," Dinah said to Sand and Jack. She leaned over and kissed Sand on the cheek. "Happy birthday, kiddo. Hope it was a good one."

"It was," Sand assured her as she followed everyone else upstairs.

He and Jack stood awkwardly in the darkened vestibule. He felt like he should thank Jack for helping him out earlier that night, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to explain exactly what the thanks was for.

"Let's grab a nightcap," Jack suggested, slinging an arm around Sand's neck and tugging him toward the kitchen.

"Sure," Sand agreed amiably. He'd always considered Jack a friend. Jack wasn't as close to his age as Kendra or Al, but he seemed to understand more about Sand's past and the burden of legacies. Maybe that was because Jack had taken the time to seek him out after Wesley's funeral and all the chaos that came along with it. He'd said that working with Wesley had been the proudest moment of his superhero career and told Sand that Dian Belmont had always been his hero, and now more than ever. He had told Sand about Knight's Past, the junk shop they had funded and Jack ran, and invited him to come by for a visit any time. Sand appreciated these last treasured glimpses of the only family he'd had, more than he could comfortably express.

Jack flicked on the lights in the massive kitchen and immediately headed for the fridge. He swung the heavy door open and stuck his head inside.

"Milk, OJ, wine coolers," he rattled off, "who the hell put _those_ in there?"

"Dinah?" Sand suggested absently, rifling through a cupboard in hopes of finding a box of Cracker Jacks. The JSA put an a monthly online order for grocery delivery and Sand was not proud to say that he paid Courtney to add the Cracker Jacks to the list with _her_ access code and to keep quiet about the whole thing.

"Nah, Dinah drinks beer and whiskey," Jack replied. "Well, whoever they belong to, I'm moving them."

Sand turned at the sound of clanking bottles to see Jack's denim-clad ass in the air. He felt a rush of arousal and let his eyes linger on the sight, Cracker Jacks forgotten in lieu of something much more delicious. Jack was lean, but hard, though Sand had never seen any evidence that he worked out. His butt was high and round and looked firm enough--

God! What was he doing? Sand spun back to the cabinet, turning his back on Jack and searching through the snack food like a man on a mission. Getting turned on by girls and ogling his straight--probably straight--guy friend. He had to be the worst gay man ever, he decided angrily.

"Hey." Jack's voice was clearer. He must have turned from the fridge, but Sand didn't want to show his red face or tight jeans. "If you're looking for the Cracker Jacks, Court and I scarfed them earlier this week. She said you'd be mad, but I told her I'd deal with you." A sharp crack punctuated his words as Jack aimed the necks of the bottles at the edge of the counter. A double hiss and the sound of two bottle caps clattering lightly on the counter followed.

"She--? Oh, I'm going to get her," Sand growled as he slammed the cabinet closed, his annoyance and minor embarrassment at being 'outted' as a Cracker Jack freak abating his more uncomfortable problem.

"Here," Jack offered, holding out a bottle of beer. "Drink alcohol. You'll feel better."

Sand shook his head and accepted the open bottle. Jack's hand lingered for a minute and then he clinked his own bottle against Sand's. 

"Happy Birthday," he said, before taking a drink. He seemed to find something very interesting on Sand's shoulder and Sand was starting to feel a little uncomfortable when Jack spoke again. "You have lipstick on your collar," he said, a faint grin creeping over his mouth.

"The hell?" Sand tried to look at his own collar and then just gave up and unbuttoned it. He sat his beer on the table and shrugged the shirt off so he could study the offending mark. "Dammit. You're right."

"Don't worry about it tonight," Jack suggested, pulling up a chair. "Just chill out."

They did, sitting silent in the kitchen for several minutes, taking the occasional drink and just breathing out the night. 

"Look," Jack said after a minute. "I wanted to apologize for pushing you at that girl. I didn't mean to put you on the spot."

"Oh. No, it was fine," Sand said automatically, wincing inwardly at the fib.

"Man, it was not," Jack replied with a bit of a laugh. "You looked uncomfortable as hell. I felt like crud."

"Sorry," Sand mumbled, turning his bottle in his hands. The last thing he had wanted was to make Jack feel bad, but couldn't the other man just _drop_ it?

"Don't be sorry," Jack insisted. "I'm sorry. I'm the asshole, I promise. Wesley said you'd had some problems with the um, you know, modern thing. But I'm a bonehead and I wasn't thinking or something."

"You talked to Wesley about me?" Sand interrupted, his brain caught on that one phrase.

"Yeah." Jack looked him in the eye for a long moment, then took a drink of his beer. "There was a picture of the two of you on his desk and I asked about it."

"Oh. I--I didn't know."

"It's not like he told me any deep dark secrets," Jack assured him.

"Apparently not," Sand muttered under his breath as he lifted his bottle to his mouth.

"You know," Jack said with a deliberate casualness, "I think Kendra's really into you."

"I think Kendra was really drunk," Sand replied flatly, taking another long drink as he stared off into space. Jack had talked about him with Wesley. What had been said? Obviously not a discourse on his sexual preferences.

"There's a reason they call it liquid courage," Jack told him.

"Look, I'm never going to have a normal relationship, Jack," Sand snapped, his stomach churning with an ache so pronounced he couldn't even identify what spawned it, "so stop trying to play yenta." 

So much for liquid courage, he thought sourly. His head swam with thoughts of Doc and the secrets they'd shared and the weary knowledge that Doc was gone and he was lost in a place with a new social order and new mores and new rules that he didn't understand. 

"Normal relationship? What's that?" Jack quipped, still annoyingly good-natured and apparently ignoring the yenta comment. "Seriously, man, you can't tell me it's the superhero thing. Not growing up with Wesley and Dian. I mean hell, they gave _me_ faith again. It's rough and all, but--" Jack stopped short. "Unless you're talking about, you know... the sand, uh, silicon, er, sili...coid thing. I mean can you not have kids or you have trouble with..." Jack trailed off, spreading his hands expansively. "I mean not that it's any of my business but--"

Sand had never even thought to wonder about reproduction and his unique physiology and not being able to get it up was far from his problem.

"Jack, you don't understand," he said tiredly, leaning the bottle against his temple. The condensation dampened his skin and cooled the fever he swore he could feel coming on.

"What? Look, obstacles are just that--things to overcome. Anyone who really loves you--"

"Jack, I'm gay," Sand barked out, cutting off the older man's ramble. In the silent beat that followed, Sand realized he was sitting ramrod straight in his seat and slouched back down again, leaning on his bottle. Dammit, he hadn't meant to say that. He put the bottle to his mouth but didn't drink for fear of choking. He wondered how long it would take Jack to a) assert his heterosexuality, b) suggest that maybe he just hadn't found the right woman yet--what woman would that be, Sand wondered idly, all the plausible candidates would probably be lesbians--or c) offer to set him up with Connor Hawke. And those were the good choices.

"So you're gay. So what?" 

Sand looked up to see Jack looking at him challengingly over the bottle pressed against his mouth. Jack's blue eyes looked wide and determined.

"So you don't have to deal with it," Sand muttered, looking away. In his peripheral vision he could see Jack roll his eyes, take another gulp, and then put his beer aside.

"Man, you have got to get with the century," Jack announced, getting up from the table. "It ain't about backrooms and family shame anymore." 

Sand tightened his jaw as Jack took the two steps necessary to bring him into Sand's personal space and then leaned forward, bracing himself with one hand on the table and the other on the back of Sand's chair. This close, he could smell the slight aroma of ozone and old book leather that seemed to follow Jack everywhere he went.

Jack leaned into him, quick and smooth, and Sand closed his eyes automatically. Jack's mouth came up against his. It was familiar and strange in one flash, the hot strength of a man's mouth against his own again, but not the right man. No, not the same man. Jack was--Jack was Jack Knight. Teammate. Friend. Straight man.

Sand jerked back. surprised.

"What was that for?" he blurted out before his mind caught up with his mouth.

"Oh, I don't know," Jack drawled with his trademark smirk. His blue eyes twinkled at Sand. "Maybe you were just sitting there looking hot and insecure in your Brando-esque jeans and undershirt and it made me wanna do this." With that, he leaned down and licked a straight line across Sand's lips. Sand opened his mouth in surprise and found Jack's tongue slipping inside. Jack supported Sand's head with one hand, crushing their mouths together, while his other hand went exploring. His fingers traced over Sand's collarbone, sliding just under the edge of the thin white shirt.

Sand recovered enough to realize that Jack was still kissing him--kissing him again, really--and that if he didn't want to stop, then Sand didn't want him to either. He felt the pad of Jack's thumb run over his nipple and chuffed out all the air in his lungs, his cock hardening along with the sensitive bud. A tingle started under his skin. One brush wasn't enough and his chest ached for more attention. Realizing his mouth was free, he opened his eyes and saw Jack sitting back, grinning at him.

"Not so bad, is it?"

"Jack...I...I didn't know," Sand stumbled, trying to make his mouth work. He hadn't known Jack was gay too, hadn't known he liked men, hadn't even thought about it.

Much.

Jack leaned forward again and Sand stifled a groan as the other man's mouth pressed against his thin white undershirt and opened around the aching nipple. 

"Shh," Jack soothed, his hands, calloused from the rod, sliding over the skin of Sand's stomach, under his shirt.

"Bite it," Sand gasped out, closing his eyes against his own need. 

"What?" Jack had lifted his head; Sand could feel his warm breath through the thin cotton but not his wet mouth.

"Bite it," he pleaded, arching into Jack's mouth as the dark-haired man complied. He felt Jack's teeth press and scrape and release and sighed at the shot of pleasure that went directly between his legs. "That's it," he sighed, letting his head fall back over the wooden back of his chair as Jack licked over the bite and moved to repeat the gesture on his other nipple. He reached out blindly and found Jack's hair with the fingertips of one hand, gripping the edge of the table with the other to steady himself. Jack shifted somehow and then his cock was against Sand's, the sensation blunted through two layers of fabric. A moment later, it was gone and Sand nearly bucked up with the loss.

"I don't want to stop here," he heard Jack say in a voice that he'd never heard before, "but I will if you want."

Sand opened his eyes, shifting his view from the ceiling to Jack's face as he forced his head up. Jack's hair was tousled, his mouth swollen, and his eyes hooded. He looked utterly delicious and Sand felt the last vestiges of inhibitions and good intentions slip away.

"Don't even think about it," he replied, not surprised to hear his voice so hoarse.

A gorgeously rakish grin broke across Jack's face.

"Y'know, we really shouldn't do this in here," he murmured in Sand's ear. "We're gonna wind up with an audience.

"Let them watch," Sand grunted, but he shoved himself up in his chair. He wasn't about to perform for the entire JSA and he knew that better than anyone. 

"Your room or mine?"

Sand looked at Jack's wide eyes and thought of the landfill of junk in Jack's room, disordering the terrain from the door to the bed.

"Mine," Sand said with a decisive nod.  
  
End Part 2 


	3. The Morning After

_**Anything But Normal, Part 4** _  
_**By Smitty** _   
  
  
  
Sand opened his eyes to the light of the sun casting through his blinds. He rolled over in alarm and saw his clock indicating that it was past nine-thirty.

Nine-thirty and he was still in bed.

Nine-thirty and--he glanced to his right and drew in a slow breath--Jack was still asleep on the other side of the bed. The reality of the situation hit him, stripped of the hazy fog of sleep.

The sheets were stuck to his stomach. The cup Jack had brought his water in still sat on the night table. The mattress was warm beneath him. His body ached slightly from the atypical--for him--exertions of the night before.

He reached up and ran his hand shakily over his face, feeling the shadow of morning whiskers against his palm. Memories flooded back from the night before and Sand tried desperately to keep them at bay until he was ready to handle them. But, like his precognitive dreams, he couldn't shut the vivid memories out and he found himself sitting up in bed to prevent himself from hyperventilating.

"Mm, hey." Jack rolled out of his sleeping sprawl and sat up next to him. He leaned forward and kissed Sand on the mouth before Sand could make a decision one way or another.

Jack tasted like stale beer and cigarette smoke and sticky morning breath. It wasn't that he tasted bad, exactly, but Sand wasn't ready to have another mouth on his yet; wasn't ready to deal with a morning after.

Jack pulled back suddenly, frowning a little at Sand and sighed shortly. "Ok." He got out of bed and stood there for a moment, naked, then ran his hand through his hair.

Sand felt like he'd done something wrong, but for the life of him, he didn't know what. Wait. He should have kissed Jack back. Maybe he should have kissed Jack first. Maybe this wasn't a one-night stand. Maybe Jack thought--oh, who _ever_ knew what Jack thought?

"I've never done this before," he said aloud.

Jack stopped looking around the room and looked straight at him, then dropped his hand to his side. "I know." He sighed and walked over to the window. He rested his forearm on the window frame and leaned his forehead against it. "I should have said something before."

"You weren't the only one--" Sand cut off, not sure how to finish. He'd kissed Jack back. Encouraged him. Told him not to stop. Dragged him upstairs.

"Look, I don't--I can't--I'm not free. I can't be--_this_ can't be--"

"I know," Sand interrupted, to stop Jack's painful ramble. He didn't want to hear it any more than Jack wanted to say it. "It's cool," he said, unconsciously copying Jack's speech patterns. "It was mutual."

"Was it ever." Jack cracked a faint grin and Sand felt better to have lightened the atmosphere even though he felt a blush rising to his cheeks as he remembered arching and crying out under Jack's mouth and hands. "And don't think I'm against doing it again sometime. But. There are things. Commitments. Stuff."

"Yeah, I understand," Sand found himself saying, although he wasn't sure he did understand. He understood that this meant no commitments, no "dates", and no I-love-yous, but he knew that he couldn't do commitments, dates, or I-love-yous either, and especially not the I-love-yous. "You've got Opal and...stuff."

"Yeah, I'm not around here much and--"

"I'm busy here, not much time for--"

"Yeah, exactly." The room was quiet for a moment, Jack standing naked by the window and Sand sitting up in bed with the sheets over his lap and his elbows resting on his knees. Then, Jack lifted his head and grinned. "But hey, if we're both around, what's to stop us from blowing off a little steam?"

Sand faltered and felt the smile on his face, already faint, become stiff. His mind raced with conflicting intentions and internal advice. Wesley would probably tell him that sex wasn't worth it without love and that trying to pretend otherwise was hollow. Doc's voice made him ache with longing. No matter what happened behind closed doors, Jack wasn't his lover, not in the heartfelt sense of the word, but maybe it would be good enough to stave off the loneliness. He wondered if that would take him somewhere he didn't want to go; if he'd be able to keep up the pretense of casualness that Jack seemed to wear all the time. And then there was a voice that sounded suspiciously like Dinah's which reminded him how hot Jack was and how good it had felt to touch and be touched and that no matter what, it wasn't a bad thing to want that. 

Thank you Superego, Ego, and Id, he grumped, realizing that he still hadn't answered Jack and was no closer to a response than when all those voices had started talking. 

"Sand?"

"Yes. Yeah. Good." Sand nodded, not really sure what was coming out of his mouth. He blinked a couple of times, wondering if he knew what he was doing, and then met Jack's eyes. "Exactly. Sounds good."

Jack studied him for a moment, which was a little disconcerting what with Jack being naked and all, and then shrugged and grinned. "Ok then," he said, satisfied with Sand's answer. "Fuckbuddies it is." He glanced at the clock and took a couple of steps toward the bed. "I hate to go now," he said apologetically, "but it's getting late and I told the babysitter I'd be home by noon--that's when her shift starts, so..."

"Yeah, I understand," Sand said, thinking frantically. *Babysitter? Jack needs a...oh. Right.* He'd heard Jack had a baby, a boy he thought, and the mother was the new Mist. It was one of those superhero gossip tidbits that played like Telephone--the way it really happened was usually far from what the current story was, so Sand had pretty well discounted it at the time. And he'd never thought to ask Jack about it. He'd never even asked the kid's name.

Jack might as well be a perfect stranger.

Sand blinked and looked up at Jack, who had stepped into the pile of clothes he'd shucked late the night before and was zipping up his jeans.

I can't do this, he wanted to say as Jack pulled his t-shirt over his head.

I don't even know you, he wanted to say as Jack hopped around, putting on his shoes.

I'm scared, he wanted to say as Jack shrugged on his trademark leather jacket. 

"Hey," Jack said, bouncing onto the bed next to Sand. "Last night was--what?"

"Huh?" Sand replied, not sure what Jack was asking.

"You looked like you were about to say something."

I can't do this.

I don't even know you.

I'm scared.

"What's his name?" Sand blurted out, hoping belatedly that the grapevine had at least gotten the gender of Jack's child correct. "The baby. I never heard."

Jack's face split into a grin, a genuine grin, one that lit up his entire face. "Teddy. Nash, that's his mother, she named him Kyle Theo after both his grandfathers. She called him Kyle, but there's just too much history there for me so I call him Teddy, for my dad, y'know? You want to see a picture?"

"Sure," Sand replied, feeling a genuine smile answer Jack's own. 

Jack shifted enough to pull his wallet out of his back pocket and leaned closer to Sand as he flipped it open.

"I don't have too many pictures," he confessed, pulling out an accordion. "He's only been living with me for about a month." 

The accordion was new, Sand could tell, the creases still stiff and the corners unbent. The surface of each envelope was smooth and matte, unmarred by fingerprints and dirt.

"This is him in the hospital," Jack explained, pointing to the first picture. "I found this in the stuff Nash left with her dad. See, he's got blue eyes, just like me."

"Jack, all newborn babies have blue eyes," Sand said, leaning closer to see if the hours-old Teddy showed any resemblance to Jack besides the unruly shock of black hair and the aforementioned blue eyes.

"They do?" Jack sounded quiet.

"Yeah." Sand looked up. "Why?" There was something wrong with what he just said, but he wasn't sure what.

"Nothing." Jack shook his head. "Just..." He shook his head. "When Nash told me about him. She wrote me a letter. And she said he had blue eyes. I guess that was how she was trying to prove to me that...y'know, he was mine."

"He still has blue eyes," Sand pointed out, pointing to a more recent picture of Jack holding his son. Teddy was wearing Jack's goggles on his head. "If they were going to be different, they would have changed by now."

"Really?" Jack asked, sounding relieved. "You think?"

"I don't know when they change," Sand had to admit, "but definitely by a year. I'm sure. He's a year or so, isn't he?"

"I think about fourteen or fifteen months," Jack said. "I haven't found his birth certificate but I know when he was y'know, conceived, and I remember when I got the letter from Nash." He trailed a finger over the picture of himself and Teddy. "I cried," he confessed in a whisper. "When I got the letter. Nash said she was going to teach him to hate me."

"I'm sorry," Sand said hollowly, unsure what would be an appropriate response.

"It's ok," Jack said, blinking in such a way that made Sand think he might be holding back tears. "Nash, well, she's dead and I'm raising Teddy now."

Sand reached out and closed his hand around Jack's far shoulder. He squeezed, familiar with this form of comfort. 

Jack turned, his near shoulder brushing against Sand's forearm. He stared into Sand's eyes, then cuffed him around the neck and pulled him into a hard kiss.

When Jack's mouth touched his, Sand shut out the reservations of his inner voices and responded, opening his mouth under Jack's assault. He felt his cock hardening again under the sheet and fell back, dazed, when Jack pulled away.

"Fuck," Jack sighed. "I wish I could stay." He kissed Sand again, quickly. "Look, last night, it was really great being with you." He gave Sand's neck a squeeze, then stood up, folding his pictures back together. "Give me a call when the wacky comes knocking, ok?" He shoved his wallet back into his jeans pocket and glanced down at Sand. "Or if you need anything, ok?"

"Sure thing." Sand was vaguely certain that he should get up, but well, he was naked and it seemed sort of awkward. "You want me to walk you out?"

"Naw, no, it's ok. Stay here and grab some more sleep. I can get out ok."

"It's no problem," Sand started, but Jack was already at the door.

"Thanks," he said, hand on the doorknob. "For everything. I mean it." He gave Sand a wink and then he was gone.

Sand sighed and fell back on his pillow. 

Thanks a lot, he told the Dinah-voice in his head, not with a little sarcasm. He lifted the covers and directed a glare at the erection there. He considered heading to the bathroom to take care of it when there was a knock on his door. He frowned and pulled the blankets over his lap, hiding all evidence of arousal. Maybe Jack had forgotten something, he thought, or maybe his sitter had called and told him to stay longer.

"Come in," he called.

The door opened and Dinah stuck her head in.

"Decent?" she asked.

"Would it make any difference if I wasn't?" he asked, suppressing a sigh. Not Jack after all.

Dinah grinned. "Not to me," she confirmed, coming in and closing the door behind her. "You ok?"

"Sure," Sand answered, still lying on his back with his knees bent. "Are you?"

"I saw Jack downstairs," she said, walking over to the bed and sitting down next to him.

Sand quirked an eyebrow at her. Jack hadn't been gone long enough to _get_ downstairs, let alone talk to Dinah. 

"He didn't say anything," she continued, ignoring his skeptical look. "But I had a feeling." She reached over and smoothed a stray cowlick down into the rest of Sand's curls. "Jack's a good guy," she continued. "But he can be sort of thoughtless sometimes and I wanted to make sure he didn't say or do anything that requires my beating him up."

"You're not my big sister," Sand told her with a smile meant to soften his words. "You don't have to go running around after me."

"I know." Dinah shrugged. "And I know I'm way overstepping my bounds."

"But when has that ever stopped you?" Sand asked, turning his head to look at her.

"Exactly." Dinah smiled. "Ok. Whatever happened, and I don't need to know, you look better this morning. Less like the world fell on top of you."

"I looked that bad?" Sand asked curiously.

"You were in more dire need of a blow job than any white man in history," Dinah quoted.

Sand chuckled and turned his gaze back to the ceiling. No wonder his Id was manifesting as Dinah's voice.

"Get out, Dinah," he said good-naturedly. "I need to get up and my generation was taught not to walk around naked in front of women."

"And thank goodness the rest of them remember that," Dinah stated positively, standing up. "I'm outta here." She crossed to the door and started to open it.

"Dinah?" Sand turned his head to look at her from his prone position once more.

"Yeah?" She closed the door again and waited with her hand on the knob.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." She smiled and winked, much as Jack had, as she left.

Sand sighed contentedly and gazed at the ceiling in contemplation of the upcoming day.

He still had his reservations about the wisdom of his fling with Jack. Team dynamics, casual relationships, babies--it all jumbled together in the back of his head reminding him why he should classify the previous night's events as poor judgment.

And maybe tomorrow, he'd care.

_The End _


End file.
